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Before having sex with men for the first time, women fantasize about the magical moment for hours and hours on end.  I, particularly, lay in bed surrounded by candles and aromatherapy, visualizing the romantic, passion-filled moment: the sweet caresses of my face and the small of my back; the soft tug of my hair and my lower lip; the feeling of a wet tongue heating up my body there and there and there and there and there!  Women also use the power of wishful thinking and, of course horniness, to summon the penis of the man they will bed. It will be the perfect penis: a small, not too-plump 5-inch one for those with a uniquely narrow vagina wall and overly sensitive flower; an average, fits in nicely (but not too nicely) inside your v-jayjay, 6-inch one; a frightening anaconda that will slither into your jungle and snap your back in half, just for the masochistic coochie.  Yes, women definitely visualize and fantasize and hope and pray that magical first time will leave them screaming, "ooh, ah, ooh, ah"! Unfortunately, the first time with most men is more like, "ugh, agh, oh, ah"?

I was hoping for a “oooh” moment with Alex, my angry Mexican. I finally decided to have sex with him after making him wait three arduous months.  I could have held out for longer, but felt guilty whenever I saw his happy penis sadden and his eyes droop.  It’s like I was breaking his penises spirit.  And I aint no spirit or penis breaker.  Besides, I figured his anger at the world would transform into passion for my pepa and that his Mexican roots would be useful in the having-lots-of-sex department.  I also assumed he would be good, since his other external, poky organ traveled a wondrous path.  If his penis worked as hard as his tongue, we would be a-ok.  So one Friday night, I called Alex and asked him to book a hotel.  My pepa was ready to sing.

I hopped in a cab and met Alex in front of Orbit with a bag in hand.  It was filled with condoms, toiletries, and a black and lacy piece of lingerie. Alex was also prepared – with a bottle of wine.  Alcohol would be his love potion and my liquid courage.  We hailed another yellow cab and cozied up to one another as the habibi sped through traffic.  It’s almost as if he knew Alex was finally going to get some. Within minutes, Alex had paid the driver and we were in front of a hotel. Within seconds, I felt a pang of dejavu. I’d been to the same cheap hotel with my ex, George.

“Have you been here before?” he turned to me and asked.

“No,” I lied.  I assumed telling him he had the same cheap taste as my ex-boyfriend would kill the mood.

We checked in and walked up the stairs to our room for the night.  I immediately turned on the television and scurried to find cups and a bottle opener.  My pepa was getting cold and dry, and I needed to warm it up to coax her to go through with sexing Alex.  After gulping down three large cups of white wine, I was ready. 

Alex turned off the lights, due to his insecurity about his body mass, and we began the ritual.  Alex kissed me there and there and there, and it was lovely as usual.  He then slipped on the condom to begin insertion.  I lay there, with Alex on top of me, anticipating great sex, yearning for an “ahhhh” moment!  And then, "ugh, agh, oh, ah"?!  I was a whole in the wall; a hot pretzel from a cart in the mall; a little female bunny rabbit being jack hammered by a Mexican hare.  I attempted to slow him down. I twisted my pelvis and hips underneath, like women usually do, when trying to direct a man to their sweet spot.  But Alex was in his moment.  So I did what most women do when having sex with men for the first time, if it actually feels as bad as the “first time”.   I laid in bed, visualizing candles, aromatherapy, and a romantic, passion-filled moment with another man. I summoned the perfect penis that would move with my slow and steady and sensuous groove.  I let my mind escape and free me from “ugh, agh, oh, ah” and moaned a sad and feeble “eh”.